


Good Hunting

by Metallic_Sweet



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: (the maiden battle's fallout), Canon Compliant, Canon-Typical Felix Behavior, Canon-Typical Violence, Emotional Constipation, Fire Emblem: Three Houses Blue Lions Route, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Non-Linear Narrative, Panic Attacks, Plague, Post-War, Self-Reflection, Wolves
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-03
Updated: 2020-02-03
Packaged: 2021-02-28 04:14:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,611
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22547620
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Metallic_Sweet/pseuds/Metallic_Sweet
Summary: Wolves hunt boars.Or, Felix fears Dimitri but not for the obvious reasons.(Written for #FE-bruaryArt Day 3: War)
Relationships: Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd/Felix Hugo Fraldarius
Comments: 15
Kudos: 156





	Good Hunting

On the field of their maiden battle:

In the following years, Felix revisits that day as often as the war that consumed his youth. He is forever fourteen, more limbs than body and faintly wobbly in his shifting joints. He is swift but not sure, and he is coated in horse guts and horse and human blood. His left foot hurts from where he banged his heel on a chariot that overturned. 

In front of him, Dimitri hunches. A lance through the torsos of the charioteer and the archer. He threw them down with his bare hands and skewered them without pausing in motion. There are bodies everywhere, piled similarly among the horse screams.

Blood drips from Dimitri’s open mouth. He has bitten his own tongue, but, in the moment, he looks as if he is a beast of old, feasting upon the flesh of his prey. He jerks his lance from the bodies, lurching to look about for —

“Where are they,” Dimitri says, slightly garbled through the blood, spit, and swollen tongue; his empty, blown eyes falls upon Felix as he drools; “Ah…”

There is no recognition in his gaze. 

Only darkness.

The year after the war is hard. 

Dimitri takes to being King as well as can be hoped: not very well. He hates sitting still, and he does not have faith in his own decisions. There is a submissive nature to Dimitri that stems from his childish desire to please, and it is poorly offset by the harshness of his experiences and his inherent disposition to violence. He hates appearing detached, so he gets too involved with the minutiae of the day to day. 

Felix does not spend much time initially in Fhirdiad, but it isn’t by design. Fraldarius requires his attention, ravaged by both his father’s emptying of the House for the war effort and the war in general. Felix spends the first seven months after returning from Enbarr settling into his role as the Duke and resolutely not coming to terms with being the sole member of the House Fraldarius. It is not optimal for a variety of reasons, including that Felix is about as suited for leadership as Dimitri.

Their failings are different, though. Dimitri has a natural charisma that draws people to him, Felix included despite himself. Felix, on the other hand, does not have any interpersonal charisma to speak of, and his gifts are with his sword and fists rather than his words. Dimitri has a way with words. His earnestness appeals to people tired of lies and war, and even his curses and violence reflect that. Everything that comes out of Felix’s mouth is brash and almost cruel. 

“Perhaps,” Ingrid says when she visits to help him coordinate his new House staff who wince at nearly every word he says, “you should think of people’s feelings a little before you open your mouth.” 

It hurts to hear this from her more than it would have before. Ingrid is infamously blunt, and her words come from her own life’s lessons. Felix grits his teeth.

“Should I apologise,” he says, not quite inflected properly to be a question. 

“No,” Ingrid says after a long moment of consideration in which she stares at him as if she can see everything that he is; she probably can. “That would mean speaking again.” 

By the time Felix returns to Fhirdiad for an important council on how to deal with the beginnings of the summer and spread of the plague, he is so relieved to be away from his own lands that this selfish emotion borders on pathetic. His staff and the local merchants guilds are slowly adjusting to him, but they still grimace when he speaks and wince whenever he shifts too quickly or gestures too sharply. Felix rides through the city gates, hating how grateful he is to see the Blaiddyd banners flying from the castle towers. 

“Felix!” Sylvain says as he meets Felix at the gates and they clasp shoulders. “You look like you’ve swallowed a lemon already! Glad to see you haven’t changed.”

“Fuck off,” Felix says, angrier than he meant to, but Sylvain just laughs.

It is staggering how cheerful and real the laugh is. Sylvain looks extraordinarily well for perhaps the first time in their lives. His colour is even, and his eyes are clear. They walk up to the castle, Sylvain nattering away about the beautiful bosoms on display with summer fashion in full swing and Felix’s tongue stuck to the roof of his mouth in shock. 

“Oh, will you look at that,” Sylvain says, his head swinging around to Felix’s blind spot.

Felix whips his head to follow his gaze. Dimitri is clearly identifiable along with Dedue as both of them examine a cart full of fabric. Dimitri’s blind side is to them, and Dedue is completely absorbed in the cart’s contents. Sylvain starts towards them before Felix can stop him. 

“Your Highness! Dedue!” Sylvain shouts, which makes both of them turn immediately towards them, Dimitri with the same intensity as he would on the battlefield; “Felix is here!”

Felix –

Dimitri is a wild boar. 

He doesn’t deny it. How could he? Felix was there. 

Felix is always there. 

Their fellow Blue Lions all think Felix is cruel, but it’s the truth. Dimitri is stronger than anyone has any right to be, and he will skewer and gore anyone and anything in his path when threatened. Boars are more dangerous than wolves when cornered alone, denser and hardier, and they have not just a vicious bite but tusks. 

In the war, Felix heard stories. Entire Imperial patrols decimated by a single force with a single blade. Sometimes the bodies were so badly damaged they were unrecognisable. Heads hacked from smashed necks. Limbs strewn about and carried partially away by carrion beasts. Once, a terrible story of a pack of wolves fighting over the corpses with a murder of crows circling overhead.

Wolves eat boars. 

Felix often lay awake in bed during the war and wondered:

When he found Dimitri, would he still be the wild boar or would a worse beast have taken his place? 

Dimitri is in poor condition. 

He is not in as deplorable a state as when they reunited five years into the war. His eye is not the empty hole that made Felix feel as if he was dead himself to look upon it. There is light there, and the white of his eye is clear. His skin, however, is sallow and his hair, while clean, limp. Felix is sure if he stood close enough, he would smell the acid of an empty stomach on Dimitri’s breath. 

He doesn’t stand close enough, but Felix doesn’t opt to be that close to anyone on principle. 

Instead, he sits through the afternoon council about the rising plague. Despite Ingrid’s advice, Felix is still not the type of person who keeps his mouth shut. His relative silence during the discussion, which is mainly volleyed between Mercedes, Manuela, Byleth, and Marianne, has more to do with his inexpertise. Felix knows an infinite number of ways to end a person’s life at the edge of blade or at the brunt of his fists. He does not know the first thing about treating a boil beyond washing it and hoping it doesn’t get infected. 

“If you don’t have a vulnerary, you can pour strong liquor on it,” Dimitri says when Felix responds to a gentle prodding from Byleth with that. 

“I feel like this explains a lot about your interest in improving basic education,” Manuela says, rather disparagingly. 

Dimitri turns a faint pink colour, which does nothing for his greyed complexion. Felix, who isn’t sure if he should feel insulted for his own lack of knowledge or for Manuela’s judgement, drums his fingers on the arm of his chair and tries not to grind his teeth. Next to him, Ingrid continues to eat the leftovers from their working lunch. The sound of her chewing grates Felix’s frayed nerves. 

“I am against closing the gates,” Dimitri says as the silence begins to stretch. “Fhirdiad has the most resources and healers, and we cannot close our doors to those in need. As we have established that our…” and he shifts awkwardly, hand drifting to the edge of his eyepatch; a new nervous habit; “Our general knowledge of healing is lacking. We will run a, a—some kind of campaign. Inform people what to do and where to go if they have symptoms.”

“And cause a general panic,” Felix says before he can stop himself. “This is the same issue we have every year. People don’t need to know that the war, even though it’s technically over, still makes everything worse.” 

Dimitri winces, just like Felix’s house staff and local merchants. He does not look as cowed or resentful, but that is likely due to a lifetime of exposure to Felix. Dedue and Ingrid both glance at Felix witheringly. Sylvian, who had been looking out the council room’s window, finally shifts his attention back. 

“The war is over,” Sylvain says, slouching in his chair and smiling easily; Felix wants to punch him. “I don’t think an information campaign would be super helpful—I can hear my father’s stupid comments already—but maybe if we pre-emptively provided people with resources –”

“That’ll be costly,” Ingrid points out through the last mouthful of potatoes and carrots. 

“There is money to spare,” Dimitri says, and he is already shuffling around the haphazard pile of papers and missives in front of him, likely looking for the Fhirdiad and Kingdom general accounts. “We cannot put a stop in death, but we may ease some suffering.”

Felix –

The worst part: 

Dimitri is kind. 

When they were children, Felix was fearful, and Dimitri was tender-hearted. Felix was quick to cry and tremble when it got dark or at the very hint of thunder, and Dimitri would get upset when they had to shoot pigeons at bow practice. Felix hated the peril and trials in high tales, and Dimitri always wanted the lovers to get together at the end. 

When they grew older, Felix was still afraid of most things, but he learned how to fight back and how to hide his constant terror better. Dimitri, however, never stopped wanting to avoid hurting people and animals if he could help it. He always wanted to make sure Felix and everyone else were happy and able to relax. 

Dimitri is still like this. Even as drenched in blood as he is, the tender-hearted boy that Felix once clung to is still there. He is earnest and kind, and he looks through the trail of corpses he has left behind to create a world where someone as beastly as he is doesn’t need to exist. 

That is why Felix is afraid. Why every time he looks at Dimitri his heart stutters and his palms become damp. Why his heart hammers rabbit quick in his throat and ears when Dimitri speaks of how to build a better world. 

Because for that world, Dimitri will gladly die. 

Felix, on his way to the training ground to blow off steam from the council meeting, encounters Ferdinand arriving through the southern gates. It is a bit of a surprise. He and Bernadetta are not expected until the morrow. 

“Felix!” Ferdinand shouts, dismounting his horse as Felix slows in his progress to accept his greeting. “Off to the ring?” 

“Yes,” Felix says, eyeing how Ferdinand has traveled armed with his axe and Levin sword. “Are you tired? Would you want to cool your heels with me?” 

Ferdinand throws his head back in his answering laugh. “As I thought!” he booms, reaching out and clapping Felix hard on his shoulder. “Yes, of course, although you will make apologies for me should we make our friends jealous.” 

“Jealous?” Felix asks as he shakes Ferdinand’s hand off to no offense. 

“Oh,” Ferdinand says breezily as they turn with his horse on lead towards the training grounds, “that we have time and energy to burn when they’re mired in paperwork.” 

“Don’t remind me,” Felix grumbles, already feeling his temper edging up again. 

“That bad, huh,” Ferdinand says, rather knowingly. 

Felix grunts. He glances at Ferdinand, who meets his gaze with his usual cheerful but also disturbingly understanding smile. There are few people that Felix retains any respect for, but Ferdinand and Bernadetta made choices that Felix cannot imagine. In the face of her fears, Bernadetta will attack as she screams at her horror to the world. She never falters when push comes to shove. Ferdinand is the same. Felix does not know what fears lie within Ferdinand’s heart because he hides them so well. He smiles, shouts his challenge, and never backs down. 

It makes them excellent sparring partners. As Felix rushes Ferdinand, he doesn’t have to hold back in speed or strength as Ferdinand parries and strikes just as surely and severely as if they were back on a real battlefield. He isn’t as quick as Felix, but he hits harder and has a very solid bearing that does not shift even under one of Felix’s signature barrages. 

“Now, now!” Ferdinand teases as Felix steps back to shift his footwork. “I don’t want to have to go to the blacksmith so soon from arriving.”

“Fine,” Felix breathes, and he sheaths his sword. “I haven’t brought gauntlets –”

“Bare fists are well enough,” Ferdinand agrees, standing straight to undo his own. 

Just as Ferdinand removes his left gauntlet, however, the training hall’s left doors open. Byleth and Manuela enter, catching Ferdinand’s attention. Felix’s temper, which had banked and been almost appeased, skyrockets immediately.

“Professor! Manuela!” Ferdinand booms as they make their way towards them in the middle of the ring. “I arrived a bit early –”

“And our Duke Fraldarius caught you, didn’t he,” Manuela says as Byleth smiles mildly at them both. 

“Oh!” Ferdinand says, and he looks to Felix with curious uncertainty. “Have you begun to use your –”

“If anyone calls me ‘Duke Fraldarius’ again, I will challenge you to a true duel,” Felix growls, suddenly sincerely angry. 

“Here now,” Byleth says, faintly reprimanding.

This is a huge scolding coming from the archbishop. Felix clenches his fists and grinds his jaw. Ferdinand blinks in surprise, but his gaze is on Byleth, far more shocked by the tone than anything Felix has done. He glances at Felix with an uncertain expression, lips starting to part. 

“Ferdinand,” Manuela says, and Ferdinand looks to her and her gentle smile with raised eyebrows, “may I steal you away a bit? I wanted to speak of the opera.”

“Oh, yes, your letters, of course!” Ferdinand says, smiling again without missing a beat; Felix has always thought Ferdinand’s ability to fall into social step quite terrifying. “I really hope we can get it off the ground, maybe not this calendar year, but the next is doable with all the hard work we have put in.”

“Yes,” Manuela agrees, and the two of them are already nearly to the doors.

“Felix,” Byleth says. 

He has no choice but to look at the professor. There is a pinched look to their gaze as their eyes wander over his face. Felix grits his teeth under the inspection. 

It has been six years, but Felix has never fully come to terms with how changed Byleth is from their early acquaintance. The light green of their eyes is the hardest for Felix to reconcile. As Byleth has become more expressive, the ethereal qualities of their colouring is more pronounced. 

If Dimitri is a beast, Byleth is something else entirely. 

“Something is bothering you,” Byleth says without further preamble. 

Felix grinds his teeth. He breaks eye contact because if he tries to keep it, he’ll give even more away. He looks down to where his left fist has curled around the hilt of his sword. He doesn’t feel anymore secure or protected. 

“Felix,” Byleth starts. 

The walls are closing around them. 

“Fuck off,” Felix says, snarls, shouts.

He used to lie awake at night, terrified of what he would find. 

Felix, unable to stop himself, turns tail and runs. 

When Felix was a child, he was afraid of the dark. 

When he was very small, he used to weep if his evening candle burned out before he could fall asleep. Glenn used to take sympathy and sneak into the nursery to comfort him. Eventually, he was caught and given a firm scolding, and Felix was left alone to weep in the dark. He, like all children, had to grow out of their fears. Or, in Felix’s case, learn to hide them better.

Because Felix never stopped being afraid of the dark. By the time he was old enough to swallow his tears, Glenn was dead and all of his world changed. Felix didn’t have enough tears for that. No tears or sorrow would bring his brother back, just as no bravery or courage could assuage Felix’s rage at his father’s useless, heartless words. 

The rage changed Felix in many ways, but it couldn’t save him from his fears. When he looked into Dimitri’s darkness in the peak of their maiden battle, Felix knew he would never be free. His friend, who Glenn had died for, is the embodiment of the dark that still makes Felix want to cry every evening as dusk falls. Dimitri, whom Felix had been born and sworn to serve, is the vessel of the world’s evil. 

Yet, he still is Felix’s friend. He is still the boy who held Felix’s hand during stories and who wept the first time he shot a pigeon. He is the prince who didn’t try to glorify Glenn’s death, and he is the king who would empty his coiffeurs to see his people suffer less. He calls Felix his friend and advisor even when Felix spits in his face and would rather spill his blood. 

And he is the one who comes to Felix hiding among the potato sacks and wine barrels in the castle cellar, carrying a tall candle because he remembers Felix is afraid of the dark. He sets it and the holder atop the small table to the right of the door frame. Lets his arm fall back to his side. Felix stares at Dimitri’s bulk in the door for a long moment, watching the way the candlelight throws everything in the room into gigantic, wavering shadows. 

“Do you want me to leave?” 

Felix breathes in. Out.

“Sometimes,” he says, without knowing exactly what is coming out of his mouth, “I don’t know if I hoped to find you, or if I hoped you were dead.” 

Dimitri doesn’t move. He is not surprised. He stares at Felix much as he did when they were at the Academy before the war. 

He knows what Felix is thinking, even when Felix himself does not. 

“Sometimes,” he says, and he takes a single step forward and no more, “I hoped I was dead, too. It would be easier because that is what everyone wanted.” 

Felix swallows. He flexes his fingers where they’re smashing a couple of potatoes in their sack. Out of the door frame, Dimitri looks just as large as always. He is a large man made up of muscle and brawn, no matter what form he could attempt to take. 

Felix didn’t grow at all after his initial growth spurts. He used up too much energy on useless rage and fear. 

Dimitri watches him. Felix watches him back. 

When Felix was eleven, they brought Glenn home with words of glory and eyes that apologised. All Felix knew was that Dimitri had been recovered but injured. He did not see Dimitri himself until nearly a year later when Rodrigue brought Felix with him to the capital. Dimitri smiled and was grateful to see Felix, but even then they knew things were different. Dedue was there, uncertain, lanky, and timid, and Dimitri was ferociously protective of him in a way he had never been towards Felix, Sylvain, or Ingrid. It was then, and not their maiden battle, that they had grown apart. 

But then as is now: 

“I didn’t want that,” Felix says. 

Dimitri jolts slightly, blinking in the candlelight. Felix breathes out. In. 

“Neither did my father,” and it is angry, but that is what Felix is: an angry person. “We searched for you. Every day. Every night. Sylvain and Ingrid and, and Dedue and everyone else—we all wanted you to be alive. It’s just sometimes, sometimes I was so…” 

His throat closes up. 

Dimitri breathes audibly. In. Out. 

He stares at Felix as if there is nothing else in the world. 

And Felix –

The pigeon coops are empty. 

“The King hates shooting live animals for sport,” is the rumour circulating through the town due to this knowledge spreading as hunting season approaches. “He finds the practice wasteful.”

“Sounds exactly like Dimitri,” Ingrid smiles when Sylvain tells them about this. 

“It is wasteful,” Bernadetta murmurs as she sips the apple tea that Ferdinand brewed and poured for them all. “What do pigeons do for us when we can magick dummies to fly just as well?” 

Felix sips his tea. He looks out the open windows to the far horizon. It is already shaping up to be a hot day, and he is glad that he did not choose to travel back to Fraldarius today as he wouldn’t have gotten on the road before the sun reached its highest point. 

“Pigeon pie can be nice,” Ingrid says, a little dreamily. “Especially with cheese.”

“Ah,” Ferdinand says before he can stop himself. 

“Oh?” Ingrid says, somewhat surprised. “Do you not like pigeon?” 

“No,” Ferdinand says, clearly embarrassed as Felix turns his head back to the table. “Pigeon is fine eating.”

“You don’t like cheese,” Sylvain observes.

“I –” Ferdinand starts, voice rising. 

The door to the parlour opens. Dimitri and Dedue return from seeing Byleth and Manuela off, expressions curious at the raised voices. Both Bernadetta and Ferdinand immediately get to their feet.

“Your Majesty!” Bernadetta shrieks.

“Your Majesty!” Ferdinand shouts but outdone by Bernadetta’s sheer pitch. 

“None of that,” Dimitri mumbles after he visibly stops himself from taking a full step back. 

Felix’s ears are ringing. Sylvain shoves his fist in his mouth to stop laughing. Ingrid looks somewhere between amused and shellshocked, and Dedue has weathered the whole ordeal in the valiant way he seems to weather everything. Felix rubs his ears and blinks hard. 

“What do they feed you in Adrestia,” he says before he can stop himself.

“We grow up singing,” Ferdinand says, smiling warmly. “Not just for Church.” 

“Yeah,” Bernadetta agrees and doesn’t apologise. 

That eases something in Felix. He doesn’t know why. Bernadetta’s lack of apology shouldn’t matter to him. 

But it does. There are so many things that shouldn’t matter that do. 

Felix is still a child, crying in the dark. 

But now:

Dimitri and Dedue finish seating themselves, Dimitri at Felix’s empty left. He smells slightly like the hair oil that Bernadetta brought from Varley. It has a light texture and pleasant scent that Felix doesn’t completely recognise. If it doesn’t grow in Fraldarius and isn’t common as Fhirdiad palace decor, Felix doesn’t know the first thing about green and growing things. Neither does Dimitri, although Felix suspects he is a great deal better at wild foraging. 

As if sensing Felix’s thoughts, Dimitri glances at him. 

Wolves fight bears for fish in the river, and boars dig for mushrooms and roots no human could hope to find. 

“Thank you, Bernadetta, for the hair oil,” Dedue says, dragging their attention back to the table. 

“Oh!” Bernadetta exclaims, not a shriek for once but one of her rare, timid smiles. “Do you like it?”

“Yes,” Dedue continues as Dimitri nods, both smiling back. “Figs, correct?” 

“Yes!” Bernadetta says, and her entire being brightens; she even sits up straight. “The trees have grown a bit wild, but they’ve been generous already with their fruit, so I couldn’t resist –”

Felix tunes out. It is not impolite. He has no input on the subject, since he doesn’t use hair oil often and hasn’t tried out his own vial. He glances again to Dimitri, who keeps his attention on Bernadetta as she, Dedue, Ferdinand, and Sylvain, who is always interested in Bernadetta’s hobbies, delve deeper into the conversation. 

Looking at Dimitri, at the blue of his eye, at the careful, thoughtful light there, Felix –

When Felix was very young: 

“You know,” Glenn whispered as Felix tucked his head upon his brother’s shoulder, “I used to be afraid of the dark, too.” 

“What?” Felix asked, so taken aback that he lifted his head again to find his brother’s eyes in the single candle’s light. 

“Yes,” Glenn said, and his smile was the truthful, slightly rueful look he only ever offered Felix. “I used to have a terrible, silly fear that there was a creature under my bed.”

Felix gaped. Glenn’s smile widened. 

“Nothing lives under the bed!” Felix whispered, or childishly thought was a whisper. 

Glenn chuckled. He adjusted his arms around Felix’s chest and back to hold him more securely. 

“I had a nightmare there was a big old wolf with a boar’s tusks,” Glenn admitted, which just made Felix even more shocked because that was absolutely ridiculous. “I was scared for ages that it would come out if I got out of bed before dawn and eat me up.”

“That’s silly,” Felix said because it was. 

“Of course,” Glenn said.

He still smiled, even warmer than before. Felix leaned forward. He lay his head on Glenn’s shoulder as his brother hugged him close. 

“But just between you and me,” Glenn whispered as Felix shut his eyes, “I think everyone is afraid of the dark. At least a little bit. Even our father. Even the King.

“They would be fools not to fear the unknown.”

Felix knows Dimitri. 

He fears Dimitri. Fears what he has done and what he can do. It is a natural fear because Dimitri is strong and smart and has done and could do such evil things. He has seen Dimitri in the depths of darkness, and he has seen Dimitri commit atrocities without the aid of his Crest and lance. 

But he knows Dimitri. He knows that deep down Dimitri does not wish to do any of these things. The Dimitri who frees doves and listens carefully to the hearts and minds of those around him is the same boy Felix has called a friend since their very birth. Time and war and an infinite number of things have warped them both. 

Felix is an angry, frightened person who lashes out at friend and foe. Dimitri, at the core, is a wild beast who yearns for the gentle hand he could also crush between his jaws. No one understands that more than themselves. 

For on the field of their maiden battle: 

“They’re gone,” Felix said as Dimitri’s empty gaze met his own; his swollen tongue lolled in his mouth. “You defeated them.” 

Dimitri blinked. Once. Twice. 

He saw Felix.

His eyes filled with tears.

“Oh,” Dimitri said as they both crumbled to their knees in the carnage and waste. “Oh, Felix. Oh, _no_ –”

And because they shared this, Felix knows: 

He will help Dimitri build a better world. Despite what both of them are. Because of who they are. And he will drag Dimitri kicking and screaming if he has to into that world because Dimitri would do the same for him. 

Felix is still afraid of the dark. He is still afraid of Dimitri. 

But together:

They ease each other’s suffering.

**Author's Note:**

> Feel free to connect with me on [Twitter @Metallic_Sweet](https://twitter.com/Metallic_Sweet)


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